


there is too much ease here; these stars treat me too well

by blueblueelectricblue



Series: a star spinning in orbit, lighting up the sky [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Diapers, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22576558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueblueelectricblue/pseuds/blueblueelectricblue
Summary: Steve and Bucky's vacation has finally come to an end, and they've just settled in at home when Natasha drops by without warning. The only problem? Steve's little.(Or, the one where someone finds out.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: a star spinning in orbit, lighting up the sky [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1304390
Comments: 34
Kudos: 154





	1. Chapter 1

I wanted to start this story by first sharing this absolutely _incredible_ piece of art by [Pambot3000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pambot3000) of Steve in his lion kigurumi! Thank you so much once again. It truly made my month. It's seriously the cutest thing I have ever seen!


	2. Chapter 2

The drive home is surprisingly scenic in spite of it only being the middle of March, before the earth comes back to life. Steve enjoys it, even if he _is_ a little sad that his and Bucky’s adventure is coming to an end after almost three months. They take turns as they make their way from San Diego to Washington, D.C., mostly following I-40 except for a detour to see the Grand Canyon, the only place Bucky had ever really wanted to go. It’s all he had talked about when they were younger. They’d always planned to visit one day, but the war and, well, everything else got in the way.

“It’s so _big,_ ” was all Bucky could say once they arrived, before he took approximately several hundred photos of the canyon as the sun slowly set. It was adorable, really, coming from a man who’s been all over the world and then some.

Steve had smiled and gone back to sketching the sight in front of him, quite pleased with himself when he looked through his sketchpad at the motel that night and confirmed that he’d captured the look of wonder in Bucky’s eyes.

They’d resumed their journey via I-40, stopping after about twelve hours of driving to eat a real dinner and get a good night’s sleep. It should have taken them four days all told, but then comes a storm that chases them into the Appalachians. Steve and Bucky decide to just keep pushing on rather than stay in Knoxville and possibly drive through even worse weather, only stopping for necessities. They arrive at their home in Dupont Circle at 7:30 the next morning and crash until mid-afternoon, leaving their bags directly in front of the door where they’re dropped. Bucky doesn’t even take his jacket off, although he kicks his sneakers into a far recess of their bedroom, before collapsing face-down on the bed.

Even just seven or so hours of sleep are restorative, however, and Steve can feel himself slipping into headspace as he stretches and yawns. It’s not all that surprising to him that it’s happening, because he’s home and sleeping in his own bed for the first time in a while and is therefore relaxed and comfortable enough to let himself drop without fighting it — _much_.

“Daddy.”

Silence.

“Daddy.” This is accompanied by a light poke.

Nothing.

“ _Daddy!_ ” Steve pokes him a little harder.

Daddy bolts awake, and Steve cracks up at the creases made in his cheeks by the pillowcase. Also, because he tends to drool a bit when he sleeps on his stomach.

“What?” Daddy’s too sleepy to look annoyed.

“It’s time to eat,” Steve says brightly.

“Is it ever _not_ time to eat with you?” Daddy asks, flipping over so he can pull Steve close for a cuddle.

“We haven’t eaten _all day_ , Daddy.”

“We had breakfast at that diner near Charlottesville.”

“That was a million years ago!”

Daddy squints at the clock radio on Steve’s side of the bed. “More like ten hours ago.”

“Like I said, a million years.” Steve pauses. “No, a _billion_ years.”

Daddy laughs. “Okay, okay. We don’t have any groceries, though, so you’re gonna have to be satisfied with one of your protein bars until food gets here. How about some hoagies?”

“Bub and Pop’s?” he asks eagerly.

“Sure. Your usual?”

“Uh-huh. Don’t forget the big pickles, Daddy.”

“Have I ever forgotten them?” Daddy reaches out and snags his phone from the nightstand and starts tapping away. A couple of minutes later, he says, “Okay, it should be here in half an hour or so. Let’s get into something comfy.”

“No diaper,” Steve answers immediately.

“Let’s see,” is all Daddy says, which means Steve isn’t going to win the argument.

In the end, Steve consents to a pull-up underneath his favorite flannel sweatpants that he wears with a Flash t-shirt, his feet kept warm with fuzzy socks that Sam gave him for Christmas. He munches on one of the protein bars made especially for him as Daddy puts on a pair of track pants and one of his plain boring black t-shirts (the only kind he owns, despite Steve’s attempts to get him to vary his wardrobe), then follows Daddy into the kitchen for a drink of water. Daddy puts his in his favorite color-changing cup with a sippy top, and Steve opens his mouth to protest but shuts it again when he sees Daddy’s raised eyebrow. It’s good enough to have the cup, anyway.

Steve practically inhales his first hoagie within five minutes of the delivery, only slowing down after he’s also consumed two enormous kosher dill pickles and starting his second sandwich, while Daddy’s only gotten through half of his own. It’s just _so_ delicious, which is his defense when Daddy tells him — laughingly — to remember to come up for air sometime. Steve winds up eating the second sub and the quarter of Daddy’s that he doesn’t finish, until finally he’s satisfied and, ready to play, goes tearing off to find the box of Duplo bricks and his toy dinosaurs in the closet. Daddy puts on an episode of _Justice League_ for Steve to watch while he puts together some impressively large towers for his dinosaurs to later knock to pieces and stretches out on the sofa with his tablet once he’s dragged their suitcases into the laundry room to be sorted out later.

Steve’s quite happily preparing the dinos for battle, setting the scene with some Lego people to be stomped on, when the front door swings open and in walks Natasha, carrying several bags of groceries and a stack of mail.

Daddy immediately bolts upright, dropping his tablet on the floor, but Steve freezes, staring up at her with a plastic brick still in his hand.

Natasha stares back, her expression of surprise making her look like a completely different person, because Steve’s never, ever _seen_ her genuinely surprised before. It doesn’t last for too long, though, and she walks into the kitchen, puts down the bags, and returns without saying a word. Now, she looks…not angry, but not exactly happy, either, as she extends the stack of mail to Daddy.

Daddy finally seems to find his voice again, and he takes it from her, tossing the envelopes and catalogues onto the coffee table, where they land in a messy pile. “Hi, Natasha,” he says, his voice sounding a bit strangled.

Steve knows exactly how he feels, because right now he’s having a hard time getting oxygen into his lungs, just like when he really was a kid, and he can’t seem to make himself get up from the floor even though he looks like a big dumb baby and Natasha can _see_ that.

“Hi,” she says back and tilts her head as if to take in the scene, which, knowing her, she definitely is.

Daddy shoots a glance at Steve.

Steve’s beyond grateful that he and Daddy know each other so well, because he doesn’t think he could communicate his needs at the moment, and Daddy slides off the sofa to kneel down next to him, putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Daddy says softly. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Steve shakes his head, terror hooking itself into his insides with its sharp claws and making him feel both cold and hot at the same time. Daddy lifts Steve onto the sofa, where he buries his face in Daddy’s neck and clings to him, wishing he had his blanket to hide behind — and then, just as quickly, realizing that it would look even worse if he did. He starts to shake all over, and he can’t stop, and he wants his pacifier but it’s in the other room because he hadn’t needed it today because he’s being a bigger boy and not a baby.

“Breathe, Stevie,” Daddy tells him, rubbing Steve’s back.

Steve hears Natasha thump into the recliner chair opposite the sofa. “I was just stopping by to make sure you had some essentials and save you a trip to the post office when you got in tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” But Daddy says it in a sort of sharpish tone so that it doesn’t sound like a thank-you at all.

What feels like an eternity but in actuality is probably only a minute or two passes before anyone speaks.

“I know it’s none of my business, but…” Natasha pauses. “Can I still ask what’s going on?”

Daddy hesitates until Steve picks up his head to look at him. “Should I…? Or no?” he asks Steve quietly.

Steve really wants to answer him, but the words won’t come, so he just nods. Daddy wouldn’t embarrass him, not on purpose. He trusts Daddy to talk for him.

“If we tell you, then we need to have your word that you won’t say anything to anyone,” Daddy tells her, “and I mean _anyone_. Clint included.”

That earns an incredulous half-snort from Natasha. “James, I’ve been a professional spy since I was ten years old. Give me _some_ credit.”

“Yeah, I know, I know, but — this is just really personal. For both of us,” Daddy says.

“I don’t need a dissertation. Just an outline will do.”

Daddy takes a long, deep breath. “It’s kind of like therapy, sort of,” he starts slowly. “And it was my idea in the first place. I just wanted to find a way for Steve to really relax when he needs a break from Avengers stuff, and I came across this thing called ageplay.”

Her eyebrows practically shoot up to her hairline, and Steve is once more finding it hard to breathe properly, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“See, it just. It feels _right_ to be able to take care of Steve again. We take care of each other, really. We both have shitty brain days where everything’s just…too much. But he goes on missions with you all, and I don’t, and he does all those PR appearances, and I don’t. And that kind of stuff is really hard to do on a constant basis even if you aren’t already dealing with PTSD. So, it’s too much a lot more often for Steve than it is for me, see?”

Natasha’s eyebrows return to their natural state. “Yes, I’m familiar with Steve’s dislike of public appearances and charity galas.”

“It’s not just a dislike, Natalia. It’s _exhausting_ to have to be Captain America every single place he goes, even when he’s not in uniform.”

She smiles now, wryly. “I do understand _that_. Playing any one part for an extended period of time is difficult, not to mention tedious.”

“It’s not that Steve doesn’t like the job or that he doesn’t want to help people,” Daddy clarifies.

“I didn’t think it was either of those things. We’re under a lot of scrutiny, more so than most people because everything we do is noticed and commented on instantly, whether we’re acting in our official capacities or not. And it’s completely normal to not like every aspect of a job, even if you know you’re helping people while you’re doing it. Did you really think I enjoyed having to pretend to be Tony’s secretary and wear that horrible wig for three months?”

Daddy quirks a little bit of a smile now. “So you get it, then.”

“I think so. Tell me more about this therapy.”

Daddy takes a long, deep breath first. “To put it as simply as possible, Steve regresses to childhood and I act as a parental figure.”

“So that’s what all this is?” Natasha waves her hand at the mess of blocks and dinosaurs and Lego people on the carpet.

“Yes.”

“How often do you do it?”

Daddy shrugs. “Whenever we need to. Sometimes more often, sometimes less.”

“Does it really help you, Steve?” Natasha asks.

Steve tries to talk again and finds that he can’t, so he just nods.

Her face softens. “Then, good. I’m glad. We all have our ways of coping.”

“I know it’s unorthodox—” Daddy starts.

Natasha interrupts him. “I won’t say it isn’t a _little_ weird, but that’s only because it’s difficult to wrap my head around the concept involving you two specifically. I just…never imagined that this was what you got up to in private. But it makes sense.”

Daddy starts at that. “What?”

“I didn’t suspect it or anything like that,” she rushes to reassure them, seeing Steve’s wide eyes. “I’m just saying that it fits.”

“What are you talking about, Natalia?”

“Well, _James_ , I figured something was up when you two bailed on me after Halloween and Thanksgiving. I kind of drove myself crazy trying to figure out what was going on, because you were just acting so strangely that I didn’t think it was just garden-variety weird mental health shit.” She sits up straighter. “Oh my god. Wait. When Maria and I showed up and you told us Steve was asleep, you guys were doing this, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, we were. We didn’t have time to change clothes, so I just threw the blanket on him and told him to pretend to be asleep,” Daddy admits. “Sorry.”

Natasha actually _laughs_ at that. It’s not mean-spirited, though. “I can’t believe anyone was ever afraid of you. That was a _horrible_ plan.”

“I wasn’t a spy, I was an assassin. Big difference. I only had to blend in long enough to take the shot.”

“Actually, this isn’t the first time I’ve ever seen it,” Natasha says, changing tack.

It’s Daddy’s turn to do the disappearing-eyebrow trick. “You don’t say.”

“The Red Room started sending us on missions long before we were initiated formally, usually having us pose as someone’s daughter or niece,” she explains. “Sometimes girls would come back after seeing their first kill — or participating in it — and shut down. We weren’t allowed to have dolls or anything sentimental, but they would hug their pillows or hide under their blankets and regress. Some of them would use baby talk, or they’d wet the bed, or they’d rock back and forth incessantly. Or all of those things. And, of course, there were always punishments for all those things. We weren’t supposed to show weakness, even before we hit double digits. But…they couldn’t help it.” Natasha’s smile has slid right off her face. “I always felt sorry for them. I tried to help when I could. Well, until they caught me helping and punished _me_. I’m not proud to say that it put an end to my ability and willingness to help anymore.”

“Jesus, Nat,” Daddy replies, looking stricken. “Every time I think you’ve told me the worst thing about that place, you tell me something even worse.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. Just that I get it. Sort of. A little.”

“I can assure you that the only punishments here are time-outs. Right, Stevie?”

Steve nods. “Uh-huh,” he manages.

“Good.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Listen, I’m sorry I barged in on you like this. I should’ve texted first to tell you I’d be coming over to air out the apartment. I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, uh, it definitely was a surprise, that’s for sure,” Daddy says. “But it’s not your fault. We didn’t bother telling anyone we’d be home early because we got so focused on just getting here.”

“Thanks. Can I ask a few more questions?”

“Depends on what they are,” Daddy replies.

“Nothing too invasive, I hope. You don’t have to answer any of them if you don’t want to. I’m just curious.”

“That’d be fine, I guess. You already know this much, right?”

“Right. So, how does it work?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, is there a code that Steve uses when he wants to do this?”

“Not really. But there are ways of telling when he wants or needs to do it. Today it’s because he woke me up already calling me ‘Daddy’.”

Natasha grins. “Not ‘uncle’ or ‘big brother’ or ‘babysitter’?”

“Nope. Too porny.”

“And ‘Daddy’ isn’t?”

“Shut up, Nat.” But Daddy’s laughing.

“Steve, how old are you when you’re…” Natasha trails off, for once not appearing to have found the right word.

“Playing,” Daddy inputs.

“Playing,” she says.

Steve has a momentary flash of panic, not wanting her to think he’s a _baby_ or anything, so he holds up four fingers.

“Four’s a good age,” Natasha says cheerfully.

“That’s the age he is today. Sometimes he’s younger.”

Steve jabs him in the ribs with his elbow, causing Daddy to say “ _oof_ ” under his breath.

“Do you pick an age beforehand or anything? Or does it sort of depend on how you’re feeling?”

“It depends on how he’s feeling, the context of the situation, that kind of thing,” Daddy explains. “But it can fluctuate. Steve tends to be younger when he comes home from a mission with an injury or seventeen.”

Natasha nods. “Makes sense. What do you do together? I mean, aside from Godzilla.”

“We watch TV or movies, or I read to him, or we play games or build Lego sets, or Steve colors. He really likes that.”

She smiles. “That does sound like you, Steve. Do you bake cookies together and that sort of thing?”

Daddy snorts. “Steve only comes into the kitchen to lick the beaters.”

“So, about the same as when he’s an adult.”

They both laugh. Steve would ordinarily protest it (even though Daddy is 100% correct, it’s his moral duty to contradict such an assertion), but he’s noticed that he’s finally stopped shaking so much and can breathe normally once again. Steve relaxes against Daddy’s side, feeling much better as Daddy and Natasha talk for a few more minutes about boring grown-up stuff. He soon realizes that he needs to go potty, but there is absolutely _no way_ Steve is going to ask Daddy to take him in front of Natasha. She might be okay with the books and toys and cartoons, but he’s fairly sure that she wouldn’t be okay with this part of it.

Then Natasha says she ought to get going if she doesn’t want to be late for her standing Wednesday sparring session with Sam and starts to get up from the recliner.

“Nat,” Steve manages, reaching out for her hand and grabbing it.

Natasha goes very still and tilts her head. “What’s up, _solnyshko_?”

“Please.” He swallows, not without some difficulty, owing to the lump that’s suddenly lodged itself in his throat. “Please don’t tell.”

“Of course I won’t.”

“ _Please_.”

“I give you my word, Steve,” she answers, looking very serious now. “I — I know how important it is to have something that’s just for yourself that doesn’t have to be shared with everyone else. I will never even bring this up with either one of you if you don’t want to talk about it, let alone with anyone else.”

“Clint?” They’re best friends and have absolutely no secrets from each other, Steve knows.

“Even Clint. It’s not for me to tell. Privacy is a precious and rare luxury for us all, and I would never do anything to compromise it, not when we’ve fought so hard to gain even this much.”

Steve swallows again, finding it much easier this time. “Promise?”

“ _Promise_.” Natasha squeezes his hand.

“What…” he hesitates, but he _has_ to know. “What ‘bout…work?”

“What about it?”

Steve’s eyes flicker up to her face and then down to the floor. “S’gonna be weird.”

“Maybe,” Natasha acknowledges, “but only for a little while, I would think. I just have to process it, and that’s something I need to do for myself. It’s not for you to worry about, all right? None of this changes how I think of you.”

“No?” He bites his lower lip.

“Of course not. You’re not doing anything wrong and it’s not hurting anyone else. And who am I to judge?”

“Oh.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek. “It’s fine, Steve. Really. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yeah…”

“Then stop worrying.” She bends down to kiss his cheek. “And be good, hmm?”

Steve nods and finally lets go of her hand.

Natasha flashes him a beaming smile, then turns her attention to Daddy. “James, it’s been good to see you again. Walk me out?”

“Of course.” Daddy pats Steve on the back a few times before he gets up and goes out into the hallway with Natasha, where they talk for a few minutes.

Steve does his best to listen in, but they’re too quiet for him to hear even with his enhanced senses, and then Daddy goes to put away the groceries. By the time Daddy returns, his anxiety’s back too — a cannonball, hot and heavy, settled in the pit of his stomach. And he still needs to go potty. He must look the way he feels, because Daddy immediately sits down next to him and pulls Steve into his lap.

“I know words are hard right now, so you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Daddy tells him quietly. “But it’s my job to make sure that you’re okay.”

“Scared,” he whispers.

“I know. It was scary to have someone find out this way, wasn’t it?”

Steve nods.

“I thought it was scary too,” Daddy tells him.

He makes an inquisitive noise at that, tucking his head under Daddy’s chin. Daddy’s never scared by _anything_ , not even horror movies.

“I wasn’t ready to tell anyone. I never thought I’d have any reason to tell anyone, because it was just between you and me,” Daddy says. “But it happened anyway. And you know what?”

“Mm?”

“We survived.”

Steve shrugs.

“Yes, we did, Stevie, even though you don’t feel very good right now. It turned out okay in the end. You know Natasha would never do anything to hurt you, right? She’s your friend.”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t say any more after that and just lets Daddy hold him and rock him until he relaxes somewhat, his shoulders going back to their natural position instead of up around his ears. Of course, that’s also when his bladder gives out and his pull-up gets all wet, and Steve can’t help but whimper in dismay, burying his face in his hands. He was supposed to be a big boy today and he can’t even do _that_. He’s already cold, somehow, and it takes a moment for Steve to register that he’s leaked. Which means it’s on Daddy’s pants too, and the tears start to fall before he can stop himself.

“Hey, shh,” Daddy says. “It’s okay, buddy.”

Steve cries a little harder. Daddy should be _so mad_ at him right now. Not just for this, but for all of it. He should’ve been able to be big when Natasha was here, and he couldn’t, and now she _knows_.

Daddy picks him up and carries him straight into their bedroom, flipping the changing pad open and tossing it onto the bed one-handed. He sets Steve down and kneels on the floor to talk to him.

“Stevie, look at me, baby.” Daddy taps very gently at his hands, which are still covering his face.

“’m sorry,” Steve sobs.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It was an accident.”

Steve shakes his head.

“Can you tell me why you’re so upset?”

“Too much,” he whispers, finally peeking through his fingers at Daddy, whose face is crinkled in concern.

“Too many big emotions today, yeah?”

“Yuh-huh.”

“I understand, lovebug. Here’s what we’re going to do,” Daddy says. “We’re gonna clean up and get changed, and then we’re gonna do some of our deep-breathing exercises. And when we feel calm again, we’ll snuggle up in bed right here to watch a movie. Okay?”

Steve is skeptical about feeling calm again, but he nods.

“That’s my good boy.” Daddy kisses his cheek and stands up again.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Teddy bears?”

“Of course.”

Daddy knows what he means by that — Steve is asking to be smaller, and so he changes Steve into a teddy bear-printed diaper, his favorite kind. Daddy also gets out the lion kigurumi he hadn't been able to pack, and Steve practically _dives_ into it.

Steve is surprised, once they’ve done those breathing exercises and watched _Moana_ (Daddy does not comment on the fact that they have now seen it about a dozen times, to his credit), that he actually _does_ feel better. Still a little wobbly, but Daddy tells him that’s just the after-effects of an adrenaline surge and it’s normal. And he’s really, really hungry again.

“Dinner?” he asks hopefully.

“Natasha brought us some ravioli from the store, and I know we have a jar or two of sauce in the cupboard. How’s that sound?”

Steve nods vigorously.

Daddy laughs at that and gives Steve a squeeze. “Yeah, I think we’re back to normal if you’re ready to eat. Do you need a change before we start dinner?”

“Nuh-uh, Daddy.” He does.

“You sure about that?”

“Yuh-huh.”

Daddy clearly doesn’t believe him, because the next thing Steve knows, he’s unzipping Steve's kigurumi to check.

“Yeah, you do.”

Steve can feel himself blushing. “ _Daddy_.”

“ _Stevie_.” But Daddy’s clearly trying not to laugh, which means he’s not annoyed. “Let me go set some water to boil and then I’ll come back and change you.”

The ravioli Natasha had brought them turns out to be really good, with spinach and cheese inside. Daddy usually makes his own spaghetti sauce, but the Newman’s Own stuff is pretty good for being in a jar, and Steve eats quite happily, glad to be in his own kitchen again eating a meal his Daddy made for him. Not that all the restaurants they went to on their vacation weren’t great, because they are, but home is the best place to eat anything, as far as he’s concerned.

After dinner, Steve puts away his Duplo blocks and dinosaurs (with Daddy’s gentle nudging) and finds a coloring book he hasn’t used since they left for warmer climates three months ago. It’s fun, but he’s suddenly really, really tired. He doesn’t know that he’s fallen asleep over it until he wakes briefly and finds he’s being tucked into bed.

“No bed,” he mumbles.

“Yes, bed.” Daddy answers.

Steve’s out again before he can come back with a retort for that.

\--

It’s a whole nine days before Steve’s called in to help the Avengers with yet another Doctor Doom situation. This guy just _will not quit_ , which would be a lot more admirable if he wasn’t, well, a megalomaniacal lunatic. For as smart as the man is, though, his Doombot designs sure are terrible; Tony and Scott manage to infiltrate their programming and essentially nuke the robots from the inside fairly early on, which makes everyone happy because after that it’s just a matter of cleaning up, and that takes hardly any time at all. There are some injuries, both Avengers and civilians, but they’re fairly minor and easily addressed by Stephen Strange and Helen Cho. 

Steve had thought it would be weird working with Natasha despite her assurances to the contrary, but actually, it really is fine. She’s the same as ever, and that makes it easier for Steve to be the same as ever too. The only thing that’s different is that he passes her on the QuinJet ride home from Latveria and finds that she’s zipping up his tac bag. Normally, nobody goes into each other’s bags unless there’s a good reason, and he starts to form a question when Natasha just puts a finger to her lips in the universal “shh” gesture.

“When you get home,” she says into Steve’s ear as she passes him, making her way toward the cockpit.

Of course, that means he’s absolutely _burning_ with curiosity by the time Sam, who’s piloting, drops Steve off on the roof of his building, and he practically runs full-tilt boogie into their apartment.

“Whoa, slow down,” Bucky says with a laugh, greeting him with a kiss even though Steve’s gross and sweaty. “What’s the rush?”

“You won’t buy it if I tell you it’s because I’m just so excited to see you again, would you?”

“Nope.” Bucky laughs again. “So what is it, then? The pot roast I’ve got in the oven?”

Steve sniffs the air, which _does_ smell absolutely delicious. “It is now.”

“Well? You gonna keep me in suspense all night?”

Steve drops his bag onto the dining room table and unzips it with enough force that he’s surprised he doesn’t pull the whole zipper mechanism out. “Natasha slipped something in here and told me to wait until I got home.”

“Did she, now?”

Steve fishes around until he finds the object that doesn’t belong in there: a book. Clipped to its front cover is a note that says, in Natasha’s distinctive handwriting, _Thought you might appreciate the artwork in this one_. 

“Tales by Alexander Pushkin, illustrated by Ivan Bilibin,” Steve reads out loud and then flips the book open to its cover page. “Hey, what does this say?” he asks Bucky, pointing out the inscription in Russian.

Bucky translates as he reads. “It says, ‘To one of the brightest rays of sunshine I’ve ever met. Never stop shining, little one. With all my love, Natashen’ka.’” He smiles. “We should read it the next time you’re feeling little. These are Russian fairy tales.”

Steve really doesn’t have a reason, per se, to be little, given how well the mission had gone and how relatively unscathed he’d emerged from it. But he hasn’t been little since that first day back from vacation, and he makes the conscious choice to slide right into headspace. “Can we read it tonight, Daddy? Please? Pleasepleaseplease?”

Daddy grins. “I don’t see why not. But first, you need dinner and a bath.”

“With bubbles?”

“You know it, kiddo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Marvel comics, Steve recalls Bucky talking about wanting to see the Grand Canyon, and I thought it'd be fun to throw that in here. Bucky and Natasha also really do call each other "Natalia" and "James".
> 
>  _Solnyshko_ translates to "sunshine," in case you were wondering what Natasha said to Steve. I understand it's a fairly common Russian endearment, and it seemed the most likely for her to use with a child she doesn't know especially well.
> 
> Newman's Own is actually _amazing_ for being in a jar, which I say as someone who insists on making my own spaghetti sauce about 90% of the time (lest my Italian forebears haunt me for the rest of my days). You can't go wrong with that brand for salsas, salad dressings, popcorn, whatever. The actor Paul Newman, who would have made one hell of a Cap and Bucky movie with Robert Redford, started it in 1982, and 100% of the profits are donated directly to charity and always have been. No, I'm not being paid to say this. I just really like Paul Newman and his food.
> 
> The illustrated Pushkin book is real! 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, bookmarking, commenting, and leaving kudos! I am so happy that this series, which I started essentially to satisfy my own wants when it comes to Steve/Bucky ageplay, resonates with so many of you.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Safe and Secure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933928) by [Paciboy77](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paciboy77/pseuds/Paciboy77)




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